


Lachesism

by ParanoidGarbage



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, Street Racing, Suicidal Ideation, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 00:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11368821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParanoidGarbage/pseuds/ParanoidGarbage
Summary: Ronan seeks disaster at every turn.





	Lachesism

**Author's Note:**

> Filling the tumblr prompt "Lachesism: the desire to be struck by disaster--to survive a plane crash, or to lose everything in a fire"  
> Also posted to my writing blog, paranoidteenagegarbage.tumblr.com!

Nothing had ever happened to Ronan that he couldn’t survive. No matter what trouble he got into, he always came out on top. Every single time that he wriggled himself out of a risky situation, he was left with a sick satisfaction that forced adrenaline through his veins and filled his chest with pride. Sometimes, it was the only way that he knew he was alive. He didn’t do drugs, but he chased the high of cheating disaster. It was this exact feeling that he was seeking on the quiet streets of Henrietta, a nearly empty six pack on the passenger’s seat and electronica blasting. He circled the block a few times as he waited for Kavinsky, checking and rechecking his phone restlessly; there was still only one message: **  
**

Race tonite. Usual place.

So there Ronan was, in the usual place, while Kavinsky wasn’t. The bastard.

Ronan continued circling the block, going faster and faster with each pass, racing against himself as he waited for trouble to come to him. It was one of those endless nights where everything around Ronan slowed to a crawl and he was left alone to entertain himself until the sun came up again or he drank himself into oblivion. Whichever came first.

Sometimes he was accompanied by Gansey, working long hours assembling the tiny cardboard Henrietta together on the floor of Monmouth Manufacturing, but more often than not he was alone. Ronan preferred those nights spent close together, it was like when they were young and running around The Barns, each other’s whole world. Ronan missed that sometimes, but he wouldn’t let himself dwell on something that would never be.

No, more often than not he was alone and breaking into the church to drink and pray and shout his grievances towards the cathedral ceiling as if God were actually listening, actually cared about him anymore. Ronan pressed the pedal down as far as it would go, feeling the car begin to wobble uncertainly with the speed. Maybe, just maybe he would crash into a pole as he took this next turn. Ronan thought about it in detail as he sped towards the intersection, eyes only on the pole to his right as he imagined the sound of shattering glass and crunching metal as he wrapped the BMW right around that pole, almost feeling his neck snap with the opposing forces of the car and his seat belt pulling him too fast in too many directions.

Of course, he slid smoothly around the corner and made it to the next stoplight in one piece. Kavinsky pulled up next to the BMW then, and both boys rolled down their windows to greet each other. Kavinsky just stuck his middle finger out of the window, so Ronan revved his engine in response. Once the stop light turned green, the two of them were off.

They took up two lanes, driving side by side because there were no other cars on the road at this hour–and because being able to glance at Kavinsky’s face as he pulled ahead made Ronan lean forward in his seat and let out a wild cackle. His vision was slightly blurred, but that didn’t deter Ronan in the slightest as he was still able to make out the basics of the streets around him. He didn’t need to see; he could feel the engine purring up his legs, he could feel the razor sharp grin splitting his face in two, he could feel victory in his grip, and he could hear the approaching sirens. Ronan was going to make Kavinsky his bitch.

Ronan pushed it for as long as he could but decided to cut things short once he could see the lights of the police cars down the street. He took a turn earlier than Kavinsky, slid around the curve and into Kavinsky’s lane just a second too late, causing the Mitsubishi’s nose to bash into the back end of the BMW. Unfortunate, but well worth it as Ronan watched the needle on his speedometer approach the red zone and Kavinsky shrink into the distance. He laughed all the way back to Monmouth, adrenaline and alcohol mixing in his blood to make him feel lighter than air.

Ronan parked the car with a whoop and popped the tab off of his next beer with a flourish, far more drunk on victory than booze. He took a moment to remedy that situation by chugging the beer, then threw himself out of the BMW to do battle with the lock on Monmouth’s front door. “Fucker,” he muttered under his breath as he dropped his keys, resorting to pounding on the door and calling for Gansey to open it. He knew that Gansey was awake, he had to have been. Gansey was always awake.

Sure enough, the door opened and Gansey hissed at Ronan to be quiet, but Gansey’s reproach fell upon deaf ears because Ronan had found it–his catastrophe. The next thing to survive was right in front of him, the next cruel twist of fate was warm under his palms as Ronan pushed his friend up against the wall and with a rush of courage that had eluded him for so long, leaned in to drunkenly smash their lips together. At that moment, everything fell into place. Ronan smiled against Gansey’s mouth as his hands slid down to find the hem of Gansey’s shirt, pushing up underneath it to feel the tight expanse of Gansey’s stomach. Ronan dragged his hands up and down Gansey’s abdomen, itching to dip lower. He could feel it–everything, all at once. Ronan could feel the car wrapping around the pole, he could feel flames burning down Monmouth Manufacturing, he could feel Gansey’s slightly chapped lips hot under his, and the ground shook like it was trying to rip in half. This was everything. The entire world could fall apart and Ronan would only stand here and smile, living an eternity in his stolen moment. In fact, he wanted the world to fall apart. He wanted Monmouth to collapse around them just to prove that nothing could be more perfect than kissing Richard Campbell Gansey III.

All too soon, Gansey had grabbed Ronan’s wrists to stop his hands’ progress southward and gently pulled away.

“We’ve gotta get you to bed,” Gansey whispered all too calmly, using his grip on Ronan’s wrists to lead him to the stairs. Ronan, too drunk to realize that the moment had ended, craned his neck to plant a kiss on Gansey’s cheek as the two stumbled along.

“Ronan,” Gansey warned, “Stop. You need to get to bed.”

And that was it. The world shattered, and the moment was over. Gansey led the giggling, stumbling Ronan to his room, and Ronan collapsed heavily onto the bed without undressing. Gansey made sure to shut the door before leaving, and Ronan fell asleep within minutes. The next morning, Ronan knew that he had survived again, but he didn’t feel the adrenaline and he didn’t swell with pride.


End file.
